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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559689">The Truth in the Act</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoneforreality/pseuds/notoneforreality'>notoneforreality</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>QB-B3 007 Fest 2020 [28]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>James Bond (Craig movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>007 Fest, 007 Fest 2020, Autistic Character, Autistic Meltdown, Bond is an absolute angel about it, Fake Marriage, Feelings, Feelings Realization, M/M, Prompt Fill, Q is Autistic, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Stimming, Team Q Branch, autistic shutdown, autistic traits, but I just wanted Soft Bond looking out for his boy, okay, okay?, possibly a little ooc?, sorry - Freeform, there's only one bed, yeah Q's autism really got involved in this one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:07:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,330</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559689</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoneforreality/pseuds/notoneforreality</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Q is sent to a conference in Paris with Bond as his protection detail. They have to stay close for proper protection, and what better reason to stick together than going undercover as a married couple?</p><p>Q is just hoping he gets out of this alive and with his soul still inside his body.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Bond/Q</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>QB-B3 007 Fest 2020 [28]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795726</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>181</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Truth in the Act</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for--<br/>Trope prompt table: Fake Marriage;<br/>Trope prompt table: There was only one (1) bed!</p><p>Okay so I don't usually put much in these beginning notes but this one took on a mind of its own and the result is a little bit more than I usually get into. It contains descriptions of autistic shutdowns and meltdowns, including harmful stims. It also contains some disparaging thoughts about autism, and the suggestion that being autistic means your brain is broken. This is only because of the character's headspace at that point in time, and is not actually true.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It starts badly and gets worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, Q is dragged up to M’s office and told ‘oh, very sorry but we need you in the field for an InfoSoc conference’ and ‘you’ll have a Double-oh escort’ and ‘it’s easier to explain someone hanging off your arm if you’re married’ and ‘you don’t mind Double-oh Seven, do you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q doesn’t agree; he’s not given the chance to, doesn’t have a choice. This is an assignment he’s been handed, along with a file all about his cover, Thomas Browning, attending the conference with his husband, John Browning. Q considers screaming, but M is watching him and Eve is waiting outside the not-sound-proof door, and that wouldn’t be a good idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he says a terse goodbye to M and goes back downstairs to sit in front of his computer and leave his body for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems like seconds before a sharp pinch on Q’s arm pulls him back to awareness, but the clock in the corner of his screen says it’s been over an hour. He swallows and blinks dry, scratchy eyes, before turning to look up at where R is frowning down at him. Over the shoulder, he can see Bond hovering in the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” he says. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>R distributes equipment — a gun for Bond, a recording device tucked into a button for Q — and then sends them off with a cheery wave and Q tries not to compare climbing into the taxi waiting outside to climbing into his own coffin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halfway across London, Bond knocks their knees together and raises an eyebrow, and Q reaches a hand up to make a decent attempt at tugging his own hair out by the fistful. It backfires, because Bond just frowns and reaches up to pull Q’s hand away, and that is far too close to holding hands for Q’s comfort. He bounces his leg, the motion big and fast, and beats his chest in counts of eight with his other hand, until Bond takes that, too, and Q’s brain checks out for the rest of the journey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are reasons he stays out of the field, and his autism is more than half of them. It’s easier to ignore a shutdown in the safety of Q-Branch, and if it’s completely unavoidable, he can tag in someone else to take over while he pulls himself together. Shutting down in the field is dangerous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Bond is there, too, and Q watches from several degrees outside of his body as Bond gets them safely from London to Paris. Q regains control over his body for a while at St Pancras, long enough to get out of the taxi himself, have a conversation with Bond while they buy a couple of things in the station, and then get onto the train himself. He makes it five minutes from the train pulling out of the station before slipping again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bond gets them from the train to another taxi, and then from the taxi to the hotel, guiding Q into the lobby with one hand under his arm and another on his back, holding him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Browning?” Bond asks, and the woman looks up, her face almost immediately cracking into a soft smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. We’ll get you through this quickly, your boy looks like he’s about dead on his feet,” she says in French — because apparently the nonsense operating system running in Q’s brain is fine processing French, for all it’s failing to process anything else at the moment — and runs Bond through all the necessary signing and details before handing over the key card.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merci,” Bond says, and then heads for the lift. Q does not want to use the lift, but he’s already too far out of it to protest or really care much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevertheless, at the last minute, Bond changes trajectory towards the stairwell. “Can you get up the stairs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q doesn’t — can’t — say anything, but Bond looks and must see something in Q’s blank face, because he nods and pushes open the door to the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get up the stairs together, the movement of Q’s body mechanical as he floats somewhere outside it. Bond doesn’t comment at all, even though he’s carrying more of Q’s weight than he should have to. They make it to the third floor, and then down the corridor to room 307, whereupon Bond shifts his grip on Q so he can use the key card and push the door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, the shock of the room is enough to jolt Q into his body, this time, rather than out of it. He blinks and stumbles, leaving even more heavily on Bond, who catches him unflinchingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” he says. “Are you back with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bed,” Q says, and then feels his face burn, because he’d meant to say so many words around that one, but his tongue is still half disconnected from the orders his brain is attempting to send.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Bond doesn’t immediately take it as a proposition, like Q expected. Instead he surveys Q carefully, and then says, “It would be strange for a married couple to order a twin room. Don’t worry; I’ll sleep on the couch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q is too busy being grateful about the fact that Bond had understood his issue with the one double bed in the middle of the room to work out how he heard everything Q hadn’t said. Instead he starts nodding, big, bouncing movements, and then gets his feet to cooperate for long enough to carry himself and his case to the wardrobe without Bond’s assistance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door clicks shut quietly and Q hears Bond going about his checks but doesn’t turn around. He needs to concentrate on staying present and getting used to the fact that they’re going to be acting as a married couple for the rest of the week. Besides, he knows why and how Bond needs to make certain that they’ll be safe, or at least that he’s aware of all potential breaches in security. The sound of Bond’s movements, of tapping and brushing fabric and rattling handles and squeaking taps are all familiar; it’s just that Q is used to hearing them filtered through an earpiece, rather than in the same room as him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Bond is satisfied, Q has pulled himself back together, strapping himself in with a black ribbon wrapped around his wrist to tug on as a pressure stim, and shifting his weight so he’s balancing on the balls of his feet as he walks, padding around the room. He’s also located the earplugs he’d stuffed into the bottom of his rucksack and put them in so that the deafening sounds of the hotel are at least slightly muted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re going to have to go to dinner now, and Q doesn’t want it. Kitchens are loud and dining rooms aren’t much better, but Bond is still wearing his suit and Q is dressed up, too, and R made reservations for them in advance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bond, however, takes one look at Q and says, “We can get takeaway to eat up here, if you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want McDonalds,” Q says, immediately, because McDonalds is the same anywhere, even in Paris, and Bond tells him to wait here while he goes to get food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he leaves, Q briefly entertains himself with the image of Bond in his fancy suit in a Parisian McDonalds, and then turns his attention to setting up what he needs for the conference tomorrow. It’s easier to go through his routine without Bond there, because he’s done enough of this on his own, both before and during his employment with MI6. The only reason Bond is here is because one of the speakers at the conference is known to MI6 as a possible hostile, and they don’t want him getting his hands on their Quartermaster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q thinks it’s overreacting. It’s not like he hasn’t seen more than half the tech-based criminals the Double-ohs face at events just like these. He’s very aware of the fact that he looks young and does a very good job at looking and acting incompetent when he wants to. People smile at him the way they’d pat a small child on the head before moving on to bother people swaggering about and declaring that they single-handedly coded Wall Street or whatever other bullshit they think sounds impressive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halfway through typing up an email to R about plans for the week — both his at the con and hers with Q-Branch — Bond returns with dinner, handing the chicken nugget meal with Sprite to Q and keeping a Big Mac for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They eat in relative silence, the small table covered in the papers and boxes from the meal, with Q’s laptop still quietly playing the video he’d put on for background noise while he did everything he needed to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dinner, as he’s shivering with the after effects of the icy Sprite, as well the McFlurry Bond had pulled out of the bag, Q knocks his knuckles together and considers what he’s going to say. He feels much better now, after some time in the room alone and then food — Bond had lunch on the train but Q had still been floating too far away to suffer the chore of eating — and the idea of their fake marriage has settled somewhere at the back of his ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can share the bed, if you want?” he offers, and Bond looks up, the line of his shoulders vaguely startled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Bond says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t,” Q says, because it’s true. At some point in the past two years, Bond has weaseled his way onto the list of the few people Q trusts wholeheartedly, and is one of only two people who has never cause Q any genuine discomfort. Stress, yes, whenever Bond gets into another one of his ridiculous scrapes and Q is left pulling his hair out on the other end of a dead commlink, but never discomfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s also the only one who does it without needing an explanation. R had known about Q’s autism from the start; as far as he’s aware, Bond still doesn’t know about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…,” Bond says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q shrugs, and borrows some of Bond’s words. “It would be strange for a married couple to not sleep in the same bed.” And then, out of a sudden and bizarre urge to justify his suggestion, he says, “Housekeeping might be in early.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Housekeeping will not be in before Q wakes at five o’clock without an alarm just like every morning, but it’s as good an excuse as any, if Q is offering excuses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tiny tilt of Bond’s head suggests that Bond realises this is a flimsy explanation, but he just nods and starts clearing the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should sleep soon,” he says, “It’s been a long day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has been a long day, and Q is exhausted, so he just nods and goes to brush his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sharing a bed will be fine. He can do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wakes up snuggled into Bond and winces, trying to pull away. That, of course, only succeeds in waking Bond, who snaps to consciousness immediately, without any of the hazy half-sleep that most other people get in the mornings. Q suspects military habits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so close,” Q says, even though Bond’s arm is wrapped around him, rather than the other way around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologies for the same,” Bond says, and releases Q, who scrambles out of the bed and heads for the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth feels gross but he doesn’t know when they’re getting breakfast, so he compromises and brushes his teeth with water alone in order to avoid mint-based interference with food in the near future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he brushes, he watches the light play across the gold ring on his left hand. He hadn’t given it much thought yesterday beyond putting it on before they left Vauxhall, too busy giving far too much thought to everything else, but it already feels like a familiar weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today will be their first day playing husbands properly. He needs to stay grounded for it, can’t abandon Bond to deal with both him and their whole cover alone like he had yesterday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He collects clean clothes and then returns to the bathroom to have a quick shower and change, before letting Bond take his turn at freshening up for the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he emerges, he’s wearing a pale blue shirt, unbuttoned at the throat and tucked into pale grey trousers with a black leather belt. The only reason it doesn’t bother Q more is because Bond has the unfair advantage of always looking unreasonably attractive, and therefore Q has had plenty of practice hiding how flustered Bond makes him feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s safe as Bond puts on his brogues and catches up his suit jacket whilst Q tucks his things into a messenger bag and slings it across his body, but then Bond offers his arm and says, “Shall we, darling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a great deal of effort not to simply combust on the spot. Somehow, Q smiles and steps closer to take Bond’s arm, and they go down to breakfast together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bond further surprises Q by ordering for him, plain toast with butter and a glass of orange juice. For himself, Bond gets a full English breakfast, and then sticks one of the sausages onto Q’s plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you,” Q says, blinking in surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything for you, darling,” Bond says, smile gentle and Q remembers that it’s supposed to be an act. There’s something strange about it, though — not in in the way that John Browning had ordered for his husband, but in the way that Bond had known what Q would want.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waiter comes over with tea and Q decides to stop thinking about that for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It occurs to him, later, when he has a break between talks at the conference, and he and Bond have found a café around the corner in which to have lunch. Bond doesn’t order for him, this time, but he does suggest a couple of things that he thinks Q might like. He chatters in French to the waitress, and then continues his conversation with Q in the same language. It might have been rude, but he does it with such confidence, like he knows that Q has been learning French since he was seven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was probably in Q’s file, that he spoke French. Nothing more to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bond is very good at acting the doting husband; Q should take lessons from him. In general, he tries to follow Bond’s lead, as well as expressing his supposed affection in his physicality. It’s not hard; it’s been a while since Q had to network, and the crowds and self-serving conversations have him retreating further and further into Bond. Bond, for his part, just gathers Q closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once, when a particularly leery man tries to argue with Q about something and the world starts slowly imploding, Bond presses a kiss to the crown of Q’s head, and the world immediately puts itself to rights again: sound dropping so suddenly it rings in his ears, lights robbed of any pain inducing brightness, the smell of alcohol from the bar suddenly bearable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, you two are so cute,” a woman gushes a few hours later as they’re leaving a speech on firewalls. She’d introduced herself as Sally Oldman before the talk started, and had some interesting points to make about encryption. “I tried to drag my husband along, but he said the only way he’d sit through it would be with one of those creepy things from A Clockwork Orange. You know, the—” she stops talking to claw at her eyes and Q flinches away. She stops. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t like eyes,” Bond says, while Q is still trying to find the words. It is a factual statement, but Q didn’t know Bond was aware of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, that’s not quite true. Q thinks about a conversation they’d had, back at Vauxhall, himself, Bond, R and Moneypenny, talking about Hammer Horror. He’d mentioned that he was interested in seeing them, that he hadn’t before, and Bond had given some recommendations. Moneypenny gave a couple, too, and then Bond had remarked about how one of them had a lot of close-ups on eyes. Q thought he was commenting on the cinematography, at the time, because R had said something about it being lazy, but maybe Bond had meant something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Sally says, unsure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like digital eyes, though,” Q says. “I’ve been looking into the use of cameras in security and the fallacies and weak points.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She accepts the change of subject easily, and they discuss it as they stroll through the halls of the conference centre. Bond walks a couple of steps behind them until they reach the bustle of the food hall, and then he steps forward and touches Q’s elbow. It’s loud, but it’s manageable, and Q tips his head slightly. They can eat here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they find a table, Sally makes to move away before Q invites her to join them. Bond goes off to scout for food, and Sally smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s so sweet that you two know each other so well. How long have you two been married?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just over a year,” Q says, recalling the information from the dossier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Congratulations.” She beams at him, and then fusses with her phone until Bond returns with two trays and she goes to get her own meal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Bond has found food that Q would have chosen: a plain hamburger and chips, with a paper cup of lemonade. Q watches his set it down without ceremony, and then looks at Bond. For a moment, Bond’s mouth twitches, his shoulders slanting in something that might be embarrassment? Then Sally’s back and it’s gone again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, how did you two meet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q thinks back to the file, again, but Bond is already talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We met in the National Gallery,” Bond says. “In front of The Fighting Temeraire. A beautiful, melancholy painting and a beautiful, melancholy man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sally practically swoons, and Q stares at his tray without registering it. The beautiful comment was fine — they were pretending to be husbands; that involved compliments — but The Fighting Temeraire was true, not the cover answer. Bond hadn’t even liked the painting, wrote it off as just a ‘bloody big ship’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chip pressed against his lips pulls him out of his thoughts and he scowls and Bond, swatting at him but nabbing the chip from his fingers with his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adorable, darling,” Bond says, grinning, and then he leans in and presses a kiss on Q’s forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q stops breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he makes himself laugh and list sideways towards Bond like this is an established aspect of their relationship, as husbands, rather than a shockingly new feature of their dynamic as...colleagues? Work friends? Real friends? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Navigating workplace dynamics is a nightmare that Q has never been good at. He made friends with R on their first day and defaults to considering everyone after that a work friend. He is now, however, considering the amount of time he spends with Bond outside of necessity, and that makes him feel something. Not that he knows what, exactly, he’s feeling, because his brain is a disaster.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They say goodbye to Sally and go back to the hotel hand in hand, having exchanged details with her for further discussion about surveillance tech (“And I’m sure my husband would love to meet you both, if you ever want to do dinner”). It feels like Q’s heart is pulsing in his hand, where his skin is burning against Bond’s but Bond doesn’t say anything about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you want to do anything else, tonight, or just head to bed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says it so casually, as though Q isn’t already overthinking a second night of sharing the same bed. It’s easy, too, the way he offers the option, even though there’s no doubt he’d spend the rest of the night propping up the bar if he were alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have anything else I want to do,” Q says, because that feels like a safe answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without faltering, Bond tugs them towards the stairs and up to their room. Q hesitates in the doorway, trying to sort through the many things he wants to say to Bond, because they need to have a conversation — or he needs to have a conversion, at least — and there’s plenty of time to do it now, not even half nine at night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At home, Q would spend the next three hours online or watching something on TV while he fiddles with whatever project he’s working on currently. Here, Bond takes one look at him and pulls, gently, leading him towards the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Q freezes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Bond says, “You’re tired; you should sleep. I’ll put something on the telly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q wakes early and tucked into Bond, again. His attempt to leave the bed without waking Bond is just as futile as the previous day, and he apologises for clinging and for waking him. Bond’s shoulder twitches just a little bit, and he says not to worry about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q flees to the bathroom to worry about it where Bond can’t see, instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today’s schedule has more networking in store: designated ‘mingling’ sessions for people to make business acquaintanceships and deals. It is unfailingly Q’s least favourite day of the conference, full of trying to keep up with all the etiquette and rules that everyone else seems to understand so much better than he does. It’s part of his job, however, to make connections with people who have useful information, and to keep a look out for anyone he thinks will do well in Q-Branch, so they can be investigated vetted and possibly approached with a job offer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wraps ribbon around his wrist and spends the day tugging at it until pins and needles shoot down his fingertips, sets his shoulders, and plunges into the bustling room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, Bond ends up doing most of the talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bond isn’t stupid. Q knows this, for all that Bond has an odd habit of feigning tech-illiteracy and begging Q for assistance with such nonsense as how to take a screenshot on his phone, or how to put Netflix on his TV rather than just his laptop. As a Double-oh, he’s encountered a range of technology that he’d either known how to deal with then, or that he’d learned how to deal with later, in case it ever happened again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It therefore shouldn’t be so surprising that Bond easily chats to this inventor or that head of security without difficulty, casually throwing in jargon and references to technical knowledge that Q hadn’t quite expected from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My husband is looking at the integration of cyber security and physical security,” Bond is telling a stout middle-aged man when Q comes back with water for both of them. “As well as how to improve efficiency when working with both tech-based and personnel-based security.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still talking, Bond accepts his drink with a smile and loops his arm around Q’s waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Thomas, my husband. Thomas, this is Mr Lanling, he’s working with Rackspace at the moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just a contractor,” Mr Lanling says dismissively. “But I’m interested in hearing about your integration ideas. Do you have a business card, we can talk it over more sometime, together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slightly mystified, Q hands over a business card for English Cyber Co., the cover for Q-Branch’s more profitable ventures (it’s where they get most of their money from; trying to rely solely on MI6’s general budget at the rate Double-ohs go through guns and gadgets would be an absolute nightmare).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A similar thing happens with the next person to approach them, asking about cameras. Bond steers to conversation with only the occasional interjection from Q, and they walk away having exchanged details for another potential meeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t realise you knew so much about these things,” Q says, an hour later, when they’ve ducked out for lunch before another talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bond tilts his head. “I do listen to you when you talk, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking about it, Q realises that a lot of what Bond had been saying was almost parrotted from Q’s ramblings in Q-Branch. In truth, he didn’t know that Bond listened to him; it’s precisely because he thought Bond didn’t listen to him that he chatters so much when he’s around. It helps to talk to a body, but most people are not nearly so willing to have their ears talked off about Q’s special interests, and Q assumed that Bond was just very good at tuning him out, functioning as a living rubber duck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he says, and something sparks at the back of his mind. He tries to come at it sideways, because sometimes his brain notices patterns without noticing the implications, and forcing the connection chases it away, but then Bond asks whether Q wants one of the cans of coca-cola in the café fridge, and the thought is gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It occurs to him again at dinner, and Q says, “You’re very good at acting my husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s too nervous with the sudden realisation to do anything other than stare out of the window they’re sat next to, so he doesn’t see the look that Bond gives him, even though he can feel the gaze on the side of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a good person to be married to,” Bond says, a teasing grin flickering across his face when Q looks back at him. Then he hesitates and then sets his cutlery down. The clatter of the knife and fork on the plate is shatteringly loud and Q’s heart rabbits in his chest. Bond sits back. “Sorry. I just meant it’s not the hardest cover I’ve ever had to keep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Q says, and sets his own cutlery down very slowly and quietly. “I’ll be back in a minute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes it halfway up the stairs before he starts gasping and choking, and the echo of it in the empty stairwell only makes it worse. He forces his legs to keep moving, to carrying him all the way to the room, where he makes it two steps inside the door before it swings closed with a thudding, thunking sound, and it takes everything Q has not to scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head makes a hollower noise when he hits it against the wall. Over and over. He rocks violently and keens in the back of his throat, biting his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time passes. Maybe a lot of it, maybe not much, but Q’s face is tacky and his throat is raw when the door opens again and is eased closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bond crouches next to him. “Can I touch you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q rocks a few more times, and then lurches into Bond, who just about catches him, although it ends up with Bond falling back onto his arse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay there, on the floor, for another indeterminate amount of time, before Bond lifts him up as easy as the stack of business cards the two of them had gathered together, and carries him over to the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should have some water,” Bond says. “Are you still hungry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q accepts the water and refuses the offer of more food; he’d been mostly finished with his dinner, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he says. “I just...my brain...it all….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it,” Bond says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Q scowls, Bond merely raises an eyebrow, although Q sees the twitch of his hands that means he’s surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to worry about it,” Q says, and he’s snarling a little bit, because his brain is useless and he just wants to have a conversation about feelings for once in his life without exploding. He grits his teeth and drags his gaze up past Bond’s ear, his finger up to point accusingly at his face. “You’re very good at being my husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bond blinks. Q wills him to understand, because he can’t find any other, better words right now. Double-oh Seven knows codes, knows to check for small discrepancies in phrasing, knows — apparently, somehow, for some reason — Q.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His posture turns a little abashed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t ask for this cover,” he says, a touch defensive, and Q rolls his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not saying you did. Not working hard at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mattress shifts as Bond does, as he turns away so Q can watch him in side-profile, can flick his eyes up to Bond’s face without having to worry about his gaze being returned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smooth-talking, charmer of MI6, Agent James Bond, is blushing. Just barely, but it’s there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I’d give you a break from all the flirting I do over the comms,” he says, and Q thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, so it was flirting. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He hadn’t been sure, hadn’t wanted to be presumptuous, had thought about all the women Double-oh Seven left in his wake and his reputation for casual flings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not very good at flirting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That startles Bond into looking back at Q, and Q drops his gaze to avoid Bond’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gathers up every ounce of courage and arms it with the newfound realisation of his — and hopefully Bond’s — feelings, and looks up, as close to Bond’s face as he can get.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or kissing. Maybe you should help me practise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bond stares. Then he says, “Can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then they are kissing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next two days of the conference go much better, with both of them playing their roles as husbands excellently. Q surprises both of them with how much he knows and understands about Bond, and Bond continues his efforts at making sure Q is comfortable and safe at all times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a near miss with a meltdown at a particularly rowdy discussion event, but Bond makes excuses to leave when Q is already far too stressed to think about just walking out. He makes a very good pressure stim, too, wrapping himself around Q and holding him here, inside his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q is aware for the whole journey back home, too, and it passes quickly in pleasant conversation that involves the arranging of at least three dates in the very near future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They arrive back at MI6 just after midday, and Q suffers through a debrief with Bond and then goes to check that his branch hasn’t exploded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he eventually finds himself in Moneypenny’s office, he sits opposite her and frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am never going back in the field again,” Q tells Moneypenny, voice flat and brooking no argument. This was only a conference; he has absolutely zero desire to see how he fares in anything more high stakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you not enjoy this one?” Moneypenny says, grin bright and smug. “You got a boyfriend out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q frowns, wondering how she already knew that. “Yes, and I’m not in a hurry to find another, so that’s hardly an incentive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sharp rap on the door halts any response Moneypenny was going to give, and Bond steps into the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re done bullying my boyfriend,” he says. His arms are crossed but the rest of his body is soft and easy, and he stands right next to Q’s chair, close enough that Q can lean into him without being too obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moneypenny sees it, anyway, because she sees everything, and she waves a hand. “Go on then. Have fun, you two, and don’t get too carried away at work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q’s face burns as he stands. “We won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are Rules,” Bond says, always understanding how Q works and what he wants and need, and Q loves him furiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” he says. “And the Rules say it’s past half one, which means lunch is allowed. Come on, Bond. We’re going out.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Keep notes:<br/>--listen I made the point in the first note about autism not being a broken brain but sometimes it fucking sucks okay? and I just want to complain about it whilst also having representation and writing wish fulfilment about having someone who's willing to deal with me regardless<br/>--shout out to my ex-boyfriend (and current good friend) who was very careful in sharing his beloved Hammer Horror with me so that I wouldn't get stressed by the Eyes bc eyes are evil<br/>--lmao Q Bond isn't stupid he just wants excuses to talk to you<br/>--rubber duck debugging, for those of you who don't know, is solving problems by talking at an inanimate object, usually a rubber duck (or, in my case, a cuddly octopus).<br/>--I need readers to know that not much time passes at all while Q is in his meltdown because Bond is a very observant husband and rushes to help him immediately<br/>--shout out to Without Being Told for the wonderful relationship between two people communicating without words <strike>bc merlin knows I don't have anything like that to go off of in my life</strike><br/>--I gave up trying to regulate my use of em-dashes so enjoy that</p></blockquote></div></div>
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